Arthur Weasley: The Early Years
by Nightengale
Summary: The early years of Arthur Weasley's life. All of these snippets are stories I wrote, mostly back in 2005, for my Arthur Weasley 100 fic challenge. I thought I would post some as a compilation for the enjoyment of all!


February sixth to most people is just another day in another month of another year. Perhaps they think of it as the day before February seventh or eight days until Valentine's Day. But to one person, Arthur Weasley, this day was known by the title of birthday.

Like most people Arthur came into this world by being born. It may not be the most important memory he has or it may not even be in his memory at all. However, it was indeed an important occurrence for him at least.

He was born into the Weasley family, pureblood and famous for their red hair and mother's apple cider. On February sixth Arthur became the second in what was to be a line of three children. Thus, this boy was given the unhappy task of being the ever neglected middle child. However, if there was ever a child born to successfully weather the seat of "middle child" it was Arthur.

His first word was 'look' and his second was 'sorry.' When he was one year and two weeks old he walked for the very first time and no one took a picture.

* * *

Arthur Weasley's fascination with muggles began with the orange bicycle when he was five years old.

He had been sitting out by their owl perch. A letter was coming soon from his aunt Ophelia and uncle Bilius who were vacationing in West Germany. He wanted to hear all about their trip to the continent since he had never been off the island himself. As he was sitting he heard a strange tinkling noise. He looked down the road from their house and saw something flash in the distance. It grew larger and began to take shape as it drew near.

Arthur saw that the thing had wheels like on muggle cars he'd seen. Arthur was not allowed away from the house much, especially since mother had baby Patrick to care for and had never seen something like this. The two wheels were held together by orange metal bars and on a pole above the back wheel was an orange seat. Above the front wheel were orange handles; they had to be handles because the girl sitting on the seat was holding them. Her feet were spinning quickly around so Arthur couldn't see exactly what was making them spin.

Arthur had never seen something so interesting before. He wanted to touch it and take it apart. It looked like someone had taken a muggle car, squished it flat then sliced it thin.

Once the girl got up to Arthur on the contraption she stopped, putting her feet on the ground. Her feet had been on little squares that were attached to the middle of the vehicle. They seemed to be what made the wheels move forward. Arthur's hands itched to try it for him self.

"Are you alright?" The girl asked him.

Arthur blinked, suddenly looking at her. "Uh… yes?"

"Oh, ok. You looked confused." Then she put her feet back onto the squares.

"Have a nice day!" She said and began to spin off.

"Wait!" Arthur cried.

She stopped and looked back at him.

"What is that?" He pointed to the metal and wheel contraption.

"It's a bike, silly!" And she spun off.

He watched the orange bike until its glint in the sun was no longer visible.

"A bike?" Arthur said to him self.

* * *

When Arthur was young he once searched for a dragon.

Every young wizard child learned that dragons were dangerous. Dragons could kill you with one breath and they had to be kept away and controlled. Dragons breathed fire, could fly, had tough scales, and should never be pets.

Arthur learned all this and knew it was true, but he didn't want a pet or to fight it and be a knight or any such nonsense. Arthur wanted a guardian, a protector. He wanted a dragon to guard him and his family. After all, magic was a lot but it never hurt to have more. What was better than a dragon for protection? He figured what were dragons really doing anyhow? Arthur could give one dragon a purpose in life. Why wouldn't the dragon agree?

Then again maybe little Arthur was just telling himself it was about protecting the family. Maybe he really just wanted to see if he could find one.

So, he decided to go and search for a Welsh Green since a Welsh Green would be most comfortable with their land and not be scared. Scared dragons could only result in innocent burnt trees and no one wanted that. Then again, were dragons ever scared?

Arthur didn't say anything to his brothers. He didn't want them to come along. This was to be his task.

So, he made a packing list:

Heavy cloak  
Sandwiches  
Map  
Flame repellent  
Dragon gloves  
Dragon net  
Extra socks  
Ever-burn candle  
Cookies  
Dragon snacks

Arthur got his blue school sack and packed. He went around the house finding everything he needed. He couldn't find a dragon map so he picked one of England. They had no flame repellent so he got some 'Betty Blug's Bug Banisher' instead. For dragon snacks he picked hot peppers and used a sheet which he tied elastic to for a dragon net. After spraying the net with a layer of the bug banisher, which would probably repel the fire, it was ready.

Lastly Arthur asked his mother to make him a few sandwiches because he was 'very hungry.' She gave him three peanut butter and jelly sandwiches cut in half and a strange look. After taking a pack of oatmeal cookies from the cupboard he was off.

The first stop was the backyard. There weren't many places to hide in their yard but dragons hadn't lived as long as they did by being stupid. Arthur checked behind the hedges, in the hedges, under the hedges. After the hedges there was the tree but Arthur knew better than that. Dragons didn't hide in trees.

The forest was next. Arthur headed straight in, readying his dragon net and mostly keeping it from dragging on the ground. It hadn't been very likely to find a dragon in the backyard. Surly it would have made itself known earlier if there had been one there. Through the woods Arthur looked everywhere, even up in the unlikely trees. Behind rocks was a surefire win but each rock seemed to be missing its dragon. Dragons were often found in mountain ranges so they must like rocks, Arthur supposed. Perhaps these rocks were a little too small for their taste. Thus, Arthur pushed on.

When it became darker Arthur pulled out his ever-burn candle and told himself not to be afraid. There was nothing scarier than a dragon in these woods and the dragons were on his side. Or at least they would be once Arthur found one and told it what he wanted. There could be no nobler cause than protecting the lives of others. Arthur was out to find protection and then the dragon would be the doer of the protecting.

At least that was the plan he was telling himself, after all the greatest joy would come in the finding of a dragon.

However, after what had to be days in the dark of night, it could not have just been one night Arthur felt, no dragons were to be found! The candle showed only trees, leaves, and nothing dragon-like and now it was beginning to get cold.

"Dragon!" Arthur shouted.

If looking hadn't been working maybe the dragon could hear him.

"Come out, dragon!"

Wind caused Arthur's candle to flicker and he looked behind him. Nothing but the slight swaying of dark black leaves. Arthur pursed his lips and reached into his bag. He took out one of the peanut butter sandwiches and sat down on the ground. His candle continued to flicker from left to right in an easy rhythm as he ate his sandwich, looking around at the black shapes in the night. Clearly this forest was not good dragon ground.

Finishing his sandwich and standing up again Arthur twirled around the picked a new direction. No point in stopping now, though he was feeling tired. Yet as he walked on calling out to the dragon and searching under every little twig there was nothing but the occasional bat or salamander.

He kept going, determined, but his eyes were so heavy.

Then Arthur was waking up in his bed. Seeing the ceiling above him and not the tops of trees he sat up in bed. At the foot of his bed Arthur saw his bag and the ever-burn candle was on his night stand. Looking out the window Arthur saw day light bringing the color back to the world. George, Arthur's older brother, was sitting in a chair reading by the door.

"Why am I here?" Arthur asked.

Looking up from his book, George blinked once.

"It's your room."

"I know that!" Arthur huffed. "But I was on a mission! Why am I back here now?"

"Well, I don't know about any mission but dad found you asleep just outside the woods in the backyard. So, he brought you inside to bed."

Arthur pursed his lips and rubbed his head. He didn't remember falling asleep. Then again he usually didn't remember right when he fell asleep even on normal days.

"Oh… well was the dragon there?"

George blinked again. "What?"

Arthur paused then lay back down in bed. "Never mind."

Looked like he would have to complete his mission another day.

* * *

Arthur's mother was a strange sort of mother. He sometimes felt like she was two different people. Part of the time she was his mother, kind and warm, making food in the kitchen or writing furiously with her quill for their local paper. The other half of her felt like a monster.

"Arthur!"

He didn't want to come out of his room but he knew he hand to.

"Arthur! Come out here this instant!"

Delay would only make her scream louder and Arthur couldn't stand when she screamed. It just made him want to run as far as he could. Slowly he crept around the door frame and into the den where she stood waiting for him.

"Arthur, what is the meaning of this?" she asked, holding a plate in her hand.

Arthur stared at the plate, confused.

"It's a plate?"

"Yes, Arthur," she snapped. "It's a plate but is a dirty plate which was here on the couch."

Arthur nodded, looking at the floor.

"Why was it on the couch and not in the kitchen where it should be?"

"I don't know," Arthur said, looking up at her. "It wasn-"

Suddenly his mother threw the plate onto the ground, breaking it into three pieces on the wood floors.

"I don't want excuses!" She screamed. "You are not to leave your dirty dishes all over the house, Arthur!"

Tear started to well up in Arthur's eyes and he couldn't speak. His mother stared down at him and she pursed her lips. For a moment they stood like that in silence until she abruptly turned away from him.

"Go to your room," she said curtly.

Arthur turned and ran, arm rubbing clumsily at the tears over his eyes.

The cat's name was Toby and it was one of the only big things Arthur ever really felt was his, apart from his clothes and later his school supplies of course. George was not much of an animal person; they could ruin his books and only make a mess. Patrick, Arthur's younger brother, had no patience for cats so Arthur counted Toby as his own.

"Toby!" Arthur called.

However, the orange tabby was overly fond of hiding from six year old Arthur, especially in high places. Hide and seek was one of their favorite games. Toby always won because he was so good at hiding under sideboards or on top of bookcases. However, Arthur always won because in the end he could find Toby and coax the cat to sit in his lap.

"Toby! Toby, you know I'll find you," Arthur said under the couch.

No orange fur was to be seen there which marked spot number five where Arthur had looked for Toby.

"Arthur, what are you doing?"

Crawling under the couch and coming out the other side, Arthur stood up to see his mother looking down at him.

"Looking for Toby! Because we are playing hide and seek and I am going to win this time!"

His mother smiled at him, a strange sort of expression on her face which Arthur couldn't quite read. She looked like she sometimes looked before she would break into tears over one of her muggle romance novels. Yet at the same time she was smiling.

"Let's look together, Arthur."

Arthur grinned, "He's not under the couch, table, behind the shelves, on the shelves, or in the bathroom."

"Oh! Well, we must look else where then."

Arthur's mother held out her hand and they went together. They thoroughly checked the kitchen making two peanut butter sandwiches in the process of doing so. They ate their sandwiches while they searched the back garden. Clearly Toby did not care for the day lilies or the tree house. Arthur's mother even lifted Arthur up to see into the tree branches, 'just in case' Arthur said.

Back in the house they looked in George's room but he informed them that Toby was not in his room and never would be, thank you very much.

"You know," Arthur's mother suddenly picked him up and held him against her chest as she spoke. "We haven't checked your room, Arthur."

"That would be quite a trick of Toby!" Arthur said, wrapping his arms around his mother's neck.

She rarely held him any more, his being six years old. Normally she would say 'you're a big boy now, Arthur' and perhaps he'd get a hand to hold instead. However, today his mother held him high in the air. Together they went into Arthur's room. There, much to Arthur's surprise sat Toby atop Arthur's pillow.

"Toby!" Arthur squeaked.

Squiggling out of his mother's arms Arthur jumped onto his bed. Toby scampered off the pillow but was stopped by Mrs. Weasley sitting down and blocking his escape.

"Mom," Arthur said as he pulled Toby into his lap. "You're so smart."

She laid a hand on Arthur's hair still smiling in that way she had earlier. "Thank you, Arthur."

To think Toby had been in his room this whole time! It made sense since Toby was his cat but that was why it had been too obvious a hiding spot in the first place. At least that was what Arthur had thought. Toby was just so good at this game.

"Does this mean I won?" His mother asked.

"I think it's a tie," Arthur replied and nestled himself against his mother's arm, Toby in his lap.

"Arthur…" he looked up at his mother.

She paused petting Arthur's hair as he petted Toby. Twice she opened her mouth but finally looked away and sighed.

"Sometimes I wish you could stay just like this, Arthur."

Wrinkling his nose in confusion, Arthur was going to say that at one point he would have to get up to eat or go to the bath room but his mother's grip on his arm tightened slightly, keeping him close to her and he didn't speak.

When Toby died three years later Arthur's mother held him the same way as she had that day. Arthur wondered if she had looked at him then with that mix of sadness and joy because she knew this day of loss would one day come or was it the loss of something else?

* * *

Seven year old Arthur stood in a corner of the family parlor silent. He slowly folded and unfolded a piece of yellow paper. Stepping forward he took a breath then stepped backwards again, folding the paper more. Shaking his head and dramatically putting his shoulders back, Arthur finally marched out of his hiding and into the kitchen. His mother was wiping his younger brother's face up on a counter. Arthur came right up beside her.

"Mother?"

"Yes, dear?" she didn't look down at him.

Arthur's four year old brother Patrick squirmed as his mother used a wet cloth to wipe the jelly from him.

Arthur held the paper up high, hoping the yellow would catch her eye. It didn't.

"Mother?"

"Yes, Arthur?" she said, more forcefully, holding onto Patrick's hand.

"No…" Patrick whined.

"Mother, I made…" Arthur started.

"What, Arthur?" His mother finally turned and looked down at him.

He held up the paper. She sighed, took it from him, and placed it on the counter.

"Thank you, Arthur. I will look at it later."

Arthur smiled a little and nodded. Walking out of the kitchen, Arthur clapped his hands together once. He hoped his mother would like his poem. He'd worked all day on it! At least since breakfast which had definitely been a long time ago.

The poem had run like this:

You are my mommy  
And you are really jolly  
You have got red hair  
And you wear an apron  
You are the best mommy  
Cause you are jolly  
I love you  
It's true  
Your magic sparkles  
And you look like a flower  
And it would be a red one  
I love you mommy  
-By Arthur (written today)

He was sure she would like it and tell him so as soon as she read it!

Sitting down on the floor in the parlor, Arthur began to play 'I Spy' with himself. He found one green book, one blue bowl, two yellow picture frames, one tan lamp, but he couldn't find the orange cat.

Tiring of this Arthur went to look for his older brother George. George was nine and he was very smart.

"George?" Arthur called.

Arthur looked all around the house and found George in his room, a tower of blocks in front of him and a toy wand in his hand.

"George?"

"What?"

"Will you play with me?"

"No." He didn't even look at the door.

"Please?"

"I'm working on my magic."

"I could help."

"You're too little."

"You've let Patrick help you before and he's only four."

George looked over at Arthur in the door way, "Cause Patrick is small enough for me to transfigure!"

"You can't tramsfigarah anything…"

"It's _transfigure_ and yes I can."

Arthur didn't respond but just turned away from the door. He never got a toy wand of his own, only George's old one a year later. Also, Arthur's mother never said anything about the poem.

* * *

The Weasley house is a two story Tudor style residence. It is at the very end of a stretch of road on the outskirts of York. The next house is half a kilometer away and they are muggles. Fortunately the two houses can not see each other and the Weasleys have no fear of their magic being seen. Oddly enough some kilometers away where the road begins is another wizard family. The road starts and ends with magic and only lies hidden in between.

The front yard has closely clipped grass and a stone walkway from the road up to the door. Two large flower bushes line the front of the house, framing the doorway. One large tree stands as tall as the house by the edge of the road with a small owl perch near the bottom for their Daily Prophet. The backyard is just as tame and well kept with a large vegetable patch to the left and a large tree with a tree house up in its branches to the right. Where the property ends yards from the back door the forest becomes wild and bars off the close cut nature from its vines and weeds.

Arthur likes to spend a lot of time in the back yard. He lies in the grass feeling it between his bare toes. In the fall he likes to try and catch leaves from his spot in the grass as they float down from their maple tree. In the spring he watches the different light shapes that form through the gaps in the new green leaves blowing in the wind. He will often fall asleep in the soft grass only awoken when the blades tickle his face.

He feels at home outside. It's quiet and peaceful, controlled in the back yard or wild in the forest. Arthur is used to silence but the silence of the outdoors isn't really silence and it never feels to him like he's being ignored. In fact Arthur tends to feel the exact opposite. Arthur feels when he walks in the woods, looking for specially shaped leaves or chasing after squirrels, that every tree looks at him and knows who he is.

Perhaps, the trees are lonely too for some other kind of contact, for someone to notice them.

* * *

The Weasley father was generally a quiet man. He spoke in looks and touches. Charles Weasley could silence the most talkative person with a look and calm their often hyperactive mother with one touch to her shoulder. And when he did talk, you always listened because there was a reason. Their father did not talk idly.

Of course this was sometimes a disadvantage for him because some people expected him to talk more. People would try to draw him into extended conversation and end up only becoming frustrated by his short and succinct answers. It wasn't as if he didn't talk or hold long conversations, just not with everyone over nothing.

This was probably why Mr. Weasley liked gardening. He would spend whole a Saturday afternoon pruning the bushes just right and planting bulbs for the spring. He could talk to the plants if he felt like it but none of them would ever talk back or expect him to talk to them. Arthur liked to watch him at his work. He especially liked seeing his father in the vegetable patch.

"How do you know when they're ripe?" Arthur asked, standing on the edge of the carrots looking through the tomatoes at his father.

Charles stopped where he was digging and bent around a stalk to look at Arthur. He smiled at his second youngest son and began digging again in the fertile earth.

"You know, you're the only one of your brothers who ever comes out to this vegetable patch."

Arthur smiled and bounced on his heels.

"I like them. The tomatoes get really bright and…" he trailed off.

His father stopped and bent around the stalk.

"And what, Arthur?"

"You like it a lot."

They both smiled warmly at each other.

"It's nice to do something with your own hands without magic now and then," Arthur's father said.

Arthur walked through the green leaves and sat down beside his father in the dirt.

"Show me what you do."

And Charles handed his son a trowel.

* * *

"Pull on it more!"

"It's flying fine!"

"Why are you playing with this?"

"George, its fun."

George gave Arthur an incredulous look, his arms folded. He looked up again then back down at Arthur.

"You know, I could just levitate it with my wand and it would look just the same."

"We don't have wands!"

"You will someday, Patrick, and for now I do."

Arthur decided to tune them out and walked backward letting the string out more. So, maybe it was a muggle toy and didn't involve magic. Maybe magic could do it easier but Arthur enjoyed the kite. It was flying high above him. It didn't need a broom, or wings, or any magic at all. This simple muggle toy could just use the wind. It fascinated him. Muggles found such ingenious ways to get around without magic. They accomplished things Arthur thought would be impossible without magic. They made the kite which could fly.

"I could levitate it; you wouldn't have to hold that string thing."

"Pull on it more! Maybe it pops open or changes into a dragon!"

"Patrick!"

"What? Maybe muggles can do that…"

"I know they can't."

Arthur looked over at his two brothers arguing and looking up at his yellow kite. Grinning he let the wind pull the string out more. It was almost hard to see the light colored kite with the sun shinning above it. Arthur couldn't believe that muggles made something that seemed as if it were magic of their own.

"Isn't this muggle… thing boring you, Arthur?" George asked him, his arms folded over his chest.

"How could it?" Arthur replied.

* * *

Arthur was a big fan of floo powder. Though flying was fun the whizzing sensation and bright colors that formed from sliding quickly through the floo network were much more fun to him. It was simply amazing to see just how many fireplaces there were connected the network. He had used it perfectly his first time and never came out the wrong grate. George couldn't say that and Arthur knew his mother must be proud of him for it. Thus, when she, looking nice in her velvet purple cloak, pulled their pot of floo powder off the mantle he felt his heart skip in excitement before he even knew where they were going.

"Come on now boys!" she called.

"What mum?" George called from the library.

"George, come here. We are going to go and replace your cauldron."

"Are we all going?" Patrick whined, peeking his head in from the kitchen. "I don't want to. George is just going to get new stuff and I won't get anything!"

"You never know!" She responded. "And, yes, you are all coming."

Arthur perked up. "All of us, really?"

Their mother smiled, her teeth like pearls. "Of course."

Arthur ran to his room, nearly knocking George over on the way. He raced in after he'd reached the second floor, threw on a blue cloak over his muggle shirt and raced back down the stairs. In the parlor by the fireplace his mother was muttering at George.

"I don't know what they are teaching 1st years now… unmendable cracks in your cauldron… brand new…"

George's cauldron had permanent cracks now because he'd tired to brew an illegal potion and really messed up. It had eaten away at the coating on his cauldron and, at the most potent points, gone right through. George had paid a 5th year in his house with two packs of exploding snap to mend it but it couldn't be perfectly done.

"Do I have to?"

Patrick was still whining as their mother did up the clasps on his travel cloak. Arthur and George looked at each other and rolled their eyes. Patrick may have only been seven but he could whine a little less.

"Alright, let's go boys. We're going to Diagon Alley. Mommy needs more mandrake root and dragon scales as well as George's cauldron."

"I'll go first!" George cried.

Arthur pursed his lips but didn't say anything.

George grabbed some powder, stepped into the fireplace and shouted, "Diagon alley!"

The green fire rose up and consumed his brother, then disappeared leaving an empty grate.

"I'm going to go ahead with Patrick," his mother said, turning to him. "You follow after, Arthur. You can do that, right?"

Arthur nodded vigorously at her.

"All right."

Arthur's mother grasped Patrick's hand and pulled him close against her body once she stepped into the grate, slightly stooped over. She shouted, threw down the powder, and they were gone. Arthur saw her purple cloak flash into still air as if eaten by the green fire.

The parlor was quiet around him then. He felt proud that his mother trusted him to go alone. Taking some powder Arthur stepped into the fire place. A chill went up his spine from anticipation of speeding through the floo system. Breathing slowly out once he shouted.

"Diagon alley!" he threw down the powder and watched the flames rise up around him.

Then he pulled to the right, wind around his head. Arthur smiled, grates whizzing by his eyes in flashes of red and gold and purple… was it his mother? Left, right, left, another left, then his feet hit the ground; he did a somersault and stood up.

"Ready?"

Eyes clearing, Arthur saw a large purple spot holding out its hand. Reaching out his own Arthur took the hand and walked out of the floo stop with his mother and brothers.

"Mum! Mum!" George cried almost as soon as they were outside. "It's my friend Lawrence. Can I go say hello?"

She nodded and he ran off without a glance back.

Looking around Diagon Alley, Arthur saw a great number of children his age and their parents. It was around Hogwarts shopping time and young parents were fussing over their first year students. New Hogwarts robes and old ones were coming in and out of every store. New books were clasped in children's hands and excited young faces were staring at brand new wands.

The excitement of the floo went out of Arthur's chest. He was only 10. He would have to wait a whole other year until he would be going to Hogwarts.

"Mum! Mum! Can I go into Honeydukes?" Patrick was jumping up and down.

"On moment, dear. Arthur?"

He looked up at her, surprised.

"Are you all right?"

Arthur smiled a little and nodded, catching a flash of black robe out of the corner of his eye. She kneeled down before him, putting her hands on his shoulders.

"Don't be upset, Arthur. You'll be going before long too. I know you can't wait to go but…" she paused. "Let me hold on to you for one year more, ok?"

Arthur smiled then at her. No Hogwarts robes flashed by, he only saw his mother with her short curling red hair, purple robes with the sleeves down to her knuckles, and bright smile. Wouldn't he miss this at Hogwarts? Would he want to come home?

Wrapping his arms around her neck Arthur nodded into the velvet on her shoulder.

"I love you, Arthur." She said.

* * *

The first time Arthur was ever in a fight he was eleven years old.

"It's my broom and if I say it can fly, it can!"

Patrick had been playing with the two muggle boys down the road. Their mother had sent Arthur to go retrieve the younger boy for dinner.

"My mom sweeps the floor with ours but yours looks dumb, like you make if from tree branches." The one boy was saying.

"It is not dumb!" Patrick yelled.

"Is so!" The other said.

The Two muggle boys were nine and eleven. When Arthur found them the older boy was holding Patrick's little toy broom up in the air over his head, much higher than Patrick could ever hope to reach.

"Give it! It's mine!" Patrick jumped up to reach.

"Stop making up lies about flying and I will!" he responded.

Arthur ran up to them, grabbing Patrick and pushing the boy behind himself.

"Give it back, now." He pointed at the broom as he spoke.

The boy and his brother laughed.

"Come to save the little liar?" the younger one asked, standing slightly behind his older brother.

"I am not-"

Arthur shushed Patrick and stared hard at the one holding the broom up.

"Give. It. Back."

The muggle boy snickered and stared back, "No."

Then Arthur punched him. He punched the boy in the face and he fell to the ground, the broom clattering on top of him. Arthur looked at his fist then down at the boy. A trickle of blood was coming from his mouth, bright red against the boy's pale skin. Staring, Arthur realized that he did that.

"Wanker!" the boy shouted, shoving the broom off him and jumping up.

He grabbed Arthur by the shoulder, pushing him backward. Arthur stumbled but didn't fall. Instead he shifted his weight and dove forward, catching the other in the gut and knocking them both to the ground. They rolled around, dirt coating their bodies, hands gripped in each other's hair. Arthur managed to turn them so he pinned the muggle boy to the ground and punched him square in the jaw causing his head to smack into the dirt.

Arthur quickly stood up, getting off the boy who lay groaning on the ground, cradling his jaw. His younger brother crept to his side now, eyes warily on Arthur and helped him up.

Arthur walked over to where Patrick's broom lay and picked it up. When Arthur walked over to Patrick he looked sullen.

"I was doing fine!" Patrick huffed, his arms crossed over his chest. "I didn't need your help!"

Arthur handed him the broom and said nothing. They walked home together and when they arrived at the house Patrick informed their mother of what had happened. Arthur was chastised and sent to his room with no supper.

His mother had said, "Fighting is no example to set for your younger brother! George doesn't get into fights!"

"They were teasing…"

"That is no excuse! Do you see George beating up local muggles over any little thing? He studies like he should and actually tires to make something of himself! You are going to Hogwarts in two months! You can't get into fights there. What is your father going to say?"

"You mean he'll actually notice something other than baby Patrick and shinning George?" Arthur bit back, nastily.

She slapped him.

In his room Arthur realized that had been the first time he had ever talked back to his mother. His first fight and first defiance fell on the same day. Sitting on his bed, Arthur tasted blood in his mouth and wondered what the muggle boy's mother did to him.

* * *

"Mum, I want pancakes!"

Arthur rolled his eyes and looked across the table at George. He was eating his toast and reading his fourth year History of Magic book without comment. It was winter break and still he read for school.

"Mum!"

"Not now, Patrick dear, I'm too busy."

Arthur spread jelly on his toast and wished they did have pancakes. His father was confining himself to coffee and the Daily Prophet seemingly unconcerned about there being only toast for breakfast that morning.

"Mum… I don't like toast!"

"Shut up, Patrick," Arthur muttered darkly.

He wanted to throw a piece of toast at Patrick.

At the sink Arthur's mother glared at him, "Leave your brother alone."

"But he's the one complaining!"

"Well, I can't help it if I don't like toast!" Patrick snapped, crossing his arms and slumping against the back of his chair.

"You don't like it now," Arthur countered. "You've eaten it before."

"No, I don't like it!" Patrick insisted.

"Well, you could quit your whining and just eat it," Arthur said, putting a piece of toast on Patrick's plate.

Patrick grabbed the piece of toast and threw it back at the plate in the middle of the table, missing and sending the toast skidding to the floor. George looked down at the toast and Charles briefly peeked out from behind his paper.

"Patrick…" he said with a sigh then went back behind his paper.

"I said, I don't like it!" Patrick nearly yelled. "I don't like it!"

"Quit it!" Arthur countered.

"No!"

"You're a brat!" Arthur yelled.

"Enough!" Their mother yelled. "Both of you be quiet! And Arthur, leave your brother alone! You should know better."

Arthur fumed and stuffed a dry piece of toast in his mouth. For awhile the only sound was the turn of pages and their mother cleaning dishes which had actually been in the sink for two days. Patrick sighed dramatically and glowered at Arthur. He glowered back. He would have thought at eight that Patrick would be more mature, at least a little. Patrick glowered a little longer then sighed again.

"Mum." He paused and turned in his chair to look at her. She turned around from the sink to regard him. "Can't I please have something else?" He batted his big baby eyes.

Arthur felt nauseated. There was a pause as their mother looked at Patrick then she smiled.

"Oh, all right dear. I'll make you some scrambled eggs."

Arthur and George both jerked their heads up in shock.

"What?" Arthur squawked.

"Ha ha!" Patrick said, turning back in his chair.

"That's not fair!" Arthur said.

"You had your toast, Arthur. Patrick doesn't like it so he can get eggs," She replied, flicking her wand at the cold cabinet.

"But why don't we get eggs?"

"You had toast," She replied, a stern edge to her voice.

However, Arthur was unabated. "He's eaten toast before! He's lying."

"I am not!"

"Mum, maybe…" George started but Arthur cut him off, on a roll now.

"And toast isn't enough for breakfast anyhow. George and I are older, why is Patrick special? Why do we have to sit quietly and eat toast while Patrick gets eggs?"

Suddenly their mother whirled around from the sink and threw a plate over the table, shattering it on the wall. George jumped up and Patrick whimpered, sinking further down in his chair. Arthur had his chin on the table looking at her. The plate would have hit him if he hadn't ducked.

"Anne!" Charles said staring right at her, his paper flat on the table.

She looked at him, shaking with anger then turned to her children.

"If you want eggs so badly, make them yourself!"

She turned back to the stove and cracked eggs into a pan. The four males at the table sat stiffly, none moving, until George quietly picked up his book, took a piece of toast and walked out. Arthur's father leaned out of his chair and picked up the large broken pieces of plate. Pulling out his wand he set them on the table and waved a circle around the pieces, fixing them back together. You could still see the cracks. Arthur looked at him but he did not return his son's gaze. Arthur stood up from the table and left the kitchen.

Arthur didn't know why he'd made such a fuss over the eggs. He hadn't wanted any.

* * *

Sandwiches were one of the standard lunches in the Weasley household. Bologna, turkey, and tuna were the most common meats to be found between two pieces of bread. Arthur was a white bread kid through and through, though George tried to convince him of the benefits of pumpernickel bread charmed with vitamins. That was George for you.

"I need some mayonnaise…"

Arthur turned around and hit his head on the cabinet door. He groaned and put a hand to his head.

"You ok?" Patrick asked.

He nodded and handed Patrick the mayonnaise. Patrick smiled at Arthur then sat at the table and put too much of the mayonnaise on his sandwich. Arthur watched him for a moment, wondering how Patrick was going to manage eating the sandwich then turned back to the cabinet. He wanted some tuna today but first he needed to find a can of it.

It wasn't until he actually turned around with the tuna can held in his hand that Arthur discovered that George was standing behind him. His arms were crossed and he was giving Arthur a searching look.

"Yes?" Arthur asked.

George opened his mouth then closed it. "Nothing."

Arthur stared at him. "Ok…"

He moved out from between the counter and George. Still keeping an eye on George, Arthur got himself some white bread, a knife, and took the jar of mayonnaise from Patrick. George was still watching him. Arthur put it all down the counter wondering if he had a stain on his robe.

"Well…" George finally said.

Arthur looked at him, spreading mayonnaise onto his bread.

"Yes?" Arthur prompted, mixing some mayo with the tuna.

"I just… just wanted to know if you were all right."

Arthur stopped stirring the tuna and looked at George fully. They gazed straight at each other, Patrick at the table chewing his sandwich. It was rather quiet. Arthur felt a churn in his stomach but he smiled a little.

"Yes, I'm fine."

George nodded though his eyes were unconvinced. He stepped closer to Arthur and ruffled his hair.

"You're my oldest younger brother, you know."

Arthur snorted and grinned. "Yeah."

"Exactly. I need you in tip top shape, you being next in line and all," George continued. "Head intact and stomach full of toast and everything."

Arthur let out a small laugh.

"Cause you're the only older younger brother I have."

"Seems to be that way," Arthur replied.

"And it's going to stay," George said, plopping Arthur's mixed tuna onto his bread in one motion. "Now, eat your sandwich."

Patrick suddenly squeaked and scampered out of the room. They both watched him go then Arthur looked back to his sandwich. Picking up the empty piece of bread Arthur crushed it on top of the tuna and put the sandwich on a plate.

"You better get lunch too," Arthur said.

"Oh, I will."

They both smiled. Arthur took his plate and left the kitchen. Patrick was sitting in the den. He looked up as Arthur came in.

"I'm sorry," Patrick blurted out.

Arthur smiled. Walking over to Patrick, he sat down beside him and took a bite of his tuna sandwich.

"It's ok, Patrick," He said.

* * *

Fork, knife, and spoon were always put out for each place at dinner. It didn't matter if they were having a meal which didn't use any; all three utensils were always put out. Arthur's mother felt the dinner table should always look complete. They all had their own napkins and bread plates. The center of the table held a pitcher of ice water and a spice wheel so everyone could season their meals as they saw fit. Their father was a big fan of cayenne pepper and George couldn't do without salt. Patrick liked salt, pepper, and parmesan cheese powder. Arthur tended to keep his food plain like his mother, though she had a special blend of herbs she sometimes added to her water when she felt tense which was often.

Tonight was a strange looking casserole their mum had gotten out of _Witch Weekly_ along with bread and cheese. It was like having the appetizer right with the meal but Arthur didn't care since he liked cheese. They were often a cheese oriented family. It seemed tonight the spoon was going to be useless.

As per usual they ate dinner in relative silence, everyone digging into their own plates.

"How was work?" Anne asked.

"Same as always," Charles replied.

This was their usual exchange at the dinner table.

"Pass me the salt, eh?" George said as he stuffed some casserole in his mouth.

Patrick passed the salt after a fly by dusting on his own food.

"Do you ever even think about not adding salt?" Arthur asked George as he cut some cheese.

"Do you ever even thing about not adding nothing on yours?" George retorted.

Patrick snorted causing his fork to fling his next mouthful of casserole at Arthur.

"Ack!" Arthur exclaimed in surprise and on pure instinct Arthur peeled if off his face and threw it back at Patrick hitting him on the nose.

Patrick barked in rage and scooped up a forkful to throw back just as George nailed him in the ear with a piece of cheese, laughing into his hand.

"No fair!" Patrick snapped.

"Ahem!" Charles Weasley said laying his fork down on the table.

All three boys froze in whatever position they were in, Arthur with a piece of bread raised, George with a hand up to block Patrick who had the casserole on his fork prepared to attack. They all looked at their father guiltily then to their shock their mother lobbed a blob of casserole right on to her husband's forehead. He blinked in astonishment and they all gaped at her.

"I didn't really much like the end result of this recipe any way."

Charles wiped the casserole from his head. "Ok then."

With his pronouncement the food war began. Casserole was flung form all sides of the table hitting faces, arms, and, of course, the walls. Arthur grabbed the cheese for himself while Patrick snatched up the bread, hunching low in his chair. The casserole kept soaring around the five Weasleys.

"Extra ammo will do you no good!" George proclaimed. "You cannot aim!"

"So sure are you?" Anne said smearing some butter on George's face.

He squeaked, leaning back hard in his chair almost knocking it over and batted away her hand. They all laughed. Arthur tossed a piece of cheese into his mother's hair just as his father hit him on the cheek with a chuck of the orange casserole. Seeming to give up on his fork Patrick grabbed fistfuls of his food and threw it in all directions. Charles and Anne seemed to be focusing on each other, throwing pinches in rapid succession. George was systematically throwing some casserole at each family member in turn in a circle then starting back around again.

"This place is a mess!" Arthur said finally looking around the room.

The water pitcher in the middle of the table looked disgusting by now.

George hit him in the head with a piece of bread and his mom hit George back with the last of her casserole.

"We are going to have to clean this up," Charles said putting his chin on his hand.

"Yeah dad, you can," Patrick said picking up his plate and tossing what it contained straight up in the air so it all splattered down upon their heads.

"Actually, we're all going to help clean up," their mother corrected.

Arthur chewed on a piece of cheese.

"I hate cleaning," George muttered.

"Good thing you have no choice," Charles said, picking something gooey out of his ear.

Arthur snickered.

The flying food had settled now leaving five very messy people, one destroyed dinner table, and an equally destroyed room. The spice wheel looked like every vial was now stuck together with strange orange and brown glue.

"Who's ready to clean?" Anne said, picking the cheese Arthur had thrown earlier out of her hair and wiping at her face with her napkin.

"Um…" Patrick said trying to slip under the table.

Arthur and George each grabbed a side of Patrick's shirt.

"Of course we are!" Arthur said, grinning at Patrick.

"Oh yes," George added.

"Ok then!" Their mother said, standing up.

"We have a strange family," Charles Weasley said causing a ripple of laughter in the room.

When it came down to it Arthur really liked some of his family's quirks.

"So…" Arthur said. "Mom's cleaning spells aren't too good then?"

"If you notice she usually hand washes the dishes," George added, pointing with his sponge.

"Learning how to clean the muggle way is shite."

"You shouldn't be saying shite, Patrick."

Patrick only glared at George.

"Though… if you look, she did the cabinets perfectly," Arthur said as he wiped the table.

"She likes to make us work," Patrick grumbled sitting back on his heels.

"It's not like dad didn't agree," George added, ringing out his sponge.

"It's a test," Arthur said with a cryptic look on his face.

"Learn to live without magic?" asked George.

"No, to see which one of us will go mad from cleaning first."

Patrick snorted and scrubbed furiously in a circle as he laughed harder.

"It's me!"

"We're almost done you nutters!" The sane oldest brother insisted.

The younger boys stared at him, hands still. He blinked back then glanced around the room.

"Well, we are!" He insisted, waving his arms wide to indicate the room.

"That's not the point," Arthur said, shaking his head. The table was finished now. "It's forced labor."

"Yeah!" Patrick added, throwing his sponge down.

"We did help make the mess."

Arthur pursed his lips and kneeled on the floor.

"Well… they said they were going to help."

George sighed. "It's all done now." He nodded looking around. "Not one spec of casserole."

"I never want to eat again," Patrick muttered looking at the now murky bucket of water they had been cleaning with. It was a dark shade of orange and gray.

Just then their father walked in and looked around.

"You three are quite thorough aren't you?"

They all stared at him as he walked over to their bucket. Arthur wondered how he knew just when to come back in the kitchen. Charles waved his wand over the bucket and all the messy water disappeared.

"Great job, boys!" He said grinning down at them.

They all stood up looking proud.

"We're the best," George said.

"Hard workers!" Patrick chimed in.

They all looked at Arthur.

"It was gross and you just wanted to see how long we'd last."

Charles snorted, George rolled his eyes, and Patrick clamped his hands over his mouth to muffle the sound.

"Maybe," their father replied, ruffling Arthur's hair.

* * *

It was late that night or perhaps it should have been thought of as very early the next morning as it was around three AM. Arthur couldn't sleep; this was not unusual in itself. Some nights he fell asleep right away but others he would lay awake for hours looking at the ceiling or out his window. He didn't have nightmares or anything that would keep him awake. He just didn't sleep.

When Arthur couldn't sleep he'd usually think about things. At Hogwarts he often thought about class work or a recent Quidditch game. Sometimes he'd think about dragons or how Muggles ever managed to think up the automobile on their own. Sometimes he'd get into debates in his head about whether wizards in the past helped create some of the Muggle 'feats of science' and then if they did, which things. He was fairly certain the airplane had to have wizard assistance to it; how else could the Muggles make something fly than with magic help?

Tonight Arthur was restless and got out of bed. For some reason he couldn't just lie and think as usual. He left his room and crept through the house to the kitchen. When he got there Arthur found his father looking out the open back door letting in the cold air. He had a short glass in his hand.

"Dad?" Arthur said quietly coming up beside his father in the doorway.

At first Charles Weasley gave no sign that he heard his second son. Shivering, Arthur looked up at his father half consciously trying to draw his gaze.

"I'm sorry, Arthur," He said.

Arthur blinked in response, his mouth opening slightly in surprise at his father's sudden words. His father took another sip of his drink. He sighed and leaned his forearm against the door frame.

"I think sometimes we have a rather strange family for one to grow up in, especially between your mother and me."

"Dad?" Arthur said, confused.

His father didn't usually talk this way. He looked down at Arthur for the first time then back out the door. He took another sip of his drink, finishing the glass. Arthur rubbed his arms trying to regain warmth.

"She is difficult sometimes."

Arthur's father put the glass down on the counter to his left. He crossed his arms and glanced at Arthur quickly. Arthur looked up at him. He couldn't think of anything to say.

"Eh…" His father waved a dismissive hand as he spoke. "It's all different from one minute to the next." He looked sidelong down at Arthur and snapped. "Magic." He smiled ironically.

"Are you okay, dad?" Arthur asked.

He looked right at Arthur, sizing him up perhaps then he stepped back from the doorway. Arthur stepped back too and his father closed the door.

"I'm fine, Arthur," He said. "Just thinking out loud."

"Okay," Arthur replied.

"You're all right, aren't you, Arthur?" He was suddenly very serious, all carelessness gone from his voice as he stared off at some point that Arthur could not see.

"Yeah, I am," He replied though Arthur wasn't sure just what question he was answering.

"You should be in bed, shouldn't you?" Charles said. "It's late."

"So should you," Arthur threw back with a smile.

Then his father turned and put his hands on Arthur's shoulders, gripping them just a little. He opened his mouth once then closed it again. He looked down and breathed deeply. Arthur felt as if he should be doing something. He felt he should be fixing whatever it was. His father looked up again and let go, standing up straight.

"You're a good son, Arthur," he said finally.

Arthur smiled sleepily. "Thanks, dad."

"Get to bed then, eh?"

Arthur nodded. "Good night," And he walked out.

As he walked back to his room, Arthur wondered why his father had been standing with the back door open to the winter cold.

* * *

The Weasley family wasn't really the sort of clan that had reunions. There was never any tradition of getting together once a year or huge Christmas gathers or any such thing. Usually everyone was far too busy. Of course each individual family had their holiday parties and sometimes they would make rounds. However, everyone all together was hard to arrange.

Arthur's father was a herbologist, constantly harvesting herbs at different times, locations, or phases of the moon to be shipped to apothecaries and specific clients all over England. The location of their house out further in the country and near a wood was ideal for all of this. Charles had one whole room of the house devoted to his various herbs full of jars and bottles of all sizes, three separate cauldrons, and a whole bookshelf with books on herb types, uses, and growing methods, one written by Charles himself. Later in Arthur's life his father built a sort of green house in their backyard for growing herbs he could not collect elsewhere.

Charles' only sibling, Arthur's uncle Bilius, worked for the ministry in the Auror division. He trained new Aurors in astrology and astronomy methods and knowledge which could help them in the field. As a result he kept strange hours often not favorable to family gatherings. His wife Ophelia, who Arthur had felt since the age of five was just simply unpleasant in most respects, ran a cloak shop in Diagon Alley. She only sold women's cloaks and in Arthur's opinion they were all perfectly hideous. Sunflower yellow with blue trim only made one look like a potions accident not fashionable.

Arthur's grandparents were very busy themselves. His grandfather, Theodore, was the ministry ambassador to France and thus was often out of the country. Plus he was one of seven siblings and often saw them as well as his children. Arthur's grandmother, Theodore's wife, Antonia was a funny woman who ran a mail order catalog which sold wand care kits, cauldrons, unbreakable potions bottles, de-gnoming spray, and all sorts of useful day to day things. This made it quite easy for her to travel back and forth to France with her husband and still do business. She would always bring Arthur and his brothers new French candy when the two came to visit.

Thus, large scale Weasley gatherings were not common. That is not to say, on the other hand, that they never occurred. In fact the summer after Arthur's third year at Hogwarts was one such occasion.

Arthur's uncle Bilius and aunt Ophelia, his cousins Antonia, Isaac, Alfred, and Kip, his grandfather Theo and grammie Antonia, two of his grandfather's brothers, One of Ophelia's sisters who was named posy, as well as Arthur's own brothers and parents were all at Arthur's house bringing the party to sixteen people. Antonia had just graduated from Hogwarts and could not stop talking about her new job as a medinurse trainee at St. Mungo's.

"It's a very important position," she told George, his father, and really anyone who would listen. "I will be helping with curse victims, learning reversal methods, long term care practices, magic we hardly touched on at Hogwarts. There were only twenty positions open and 231 applicants. And yet, there I am, one of the twenty!"

Arthur kind of wanted to hex a steel plate or a brick over her mouth.

"Of course we are very proud of Antonia!" Aunt Ophelia was non-stop as well. "I know she will rise through the ranks very quickly!"

"Just like her mother, ambitious!" Posy said.

They were all in the backyard eating and chatting. Three large picnic tables had been magiced by his father, one for the food and two to sit at lit by jars of fireflies. At the moment the only people actually sitting at the tables were his Uncle Bilius and Isaac.

Isaac was George's age and was a very quiet sort of boy. He kept himself buried in his sketch book sitting at one corner of the tables and didn't talk to anyone. Arthur decided not to even try this time. Three years ago when they'd had a last Weasley get together he'd spent a good hour trying to strike up a conversation with his cousin only to get monosyllabic answers and no eye contact the whole time.

Looking around the backyard Arthur could see his father and grandfather talking by the greenhouse. The ladies were all clustered around young Antonia, jabbering away. It seemed George had also been kidnapped into the conversation and appeared to be quite miserable. Arthur just stuck close to the food table and tried to go unnoticed, not that it was very difficult for him to do so. It wasn't that he didn't love his family, he did, but sometimes the conversation made one want to jump off a building.

Patrick and Kip, who was ten, were near the house, heads close together. The two of them were rather close for cousins and liked to get up to mischief when together. Often they tortured animals or set things on fire, classic youngest children. Arthur preferred to walk in the other direction whenever he saw them together.

"So, any new family gossip on your end?" Arthur turned to see Alfred standing next to him against the food table.

Arthur's cousin Alfred was fifteen, a Gryffindor like him, and quite the little playboy at school. The girls loved him, as well as some of the boys, and he even tried to charm some of the teachers on occasion. Alfred was a middle of the road student, only really excelling in charms much to the ironic amusement of Arthur. He didn't play quidditch but instead had started a dueling club which Arthur had code named 'Alfred Lovers Anonymous' as most of the attendees came because they were swooning over Alfred not because they really wanted to duel. Arthur felt it was a bit of a tragedy. However, despite the playboy attitude Arthur liked Alfred. He was genuinely laid back when not trying to pick someone up and he was funny.

"You mean something more important besides your sister's claim to fame at St. Mungo's?" Arthur replied.

They both laughed.

"She hasn't stopped since she got home from Hogwarts." Alfred said, "I think she may get laryngitis soon, at least I hope she does."

"Don't we all?"

Arthur picked up a muffin and picked off the top, munching as the two of them watched their family of red heads.

"Did you know Isaac has a girlfriend?" Alfred said.

"Isaac does?" Arthur's eyes were wide. "A girl from Hufflepuff? I mean I never see him so…"

"Yeah, she's in his house and just as quiet as he is. Apparently it's been awhile." Alfred gave an appreciative nod. "I'd never have thought him capable!"

"Wow."

"Antonia is already seeing some bloke called Newman from her job. He's one of the sacred twenty."

Arthur snorted and almost choked on his muffin top.

"Also my aunt Posy over there is engaged to some flavor of the month and my grandmother Florence is in trouble with the ministry for some charmed cookies she gave a muggle neighbor in typical Florence fashion."

"Never ends on your side, does it?" Arthur said with a chuckle.

"Yep!" Alfred popped a grape from behind him on the table into his mouth. "Also I think my mother is having an affair."

"What!"

Alfred laughed as Arthur nearly fell over in surprise.

"Just kidding!" He said.

"You are an arse."

"I know but I'm a sexy one."

Arthur rolled his eyes.

Then suddenly they heard a small explosion from the directions of the house. All the Weasleys turned in time to see Patrick and Kip fleeing around the corner.

"Typical Weasley family gathering," Arthur muttered.


End file.
